Roses for Keith
by flamboyantfanboy
Summary: Lance hears about it from his friends: tales of a strange new boy at his high school, one with violet eyes and long dark hair. And Lance, being the curious guy he is, wants to investigate. Klance Highschool AU with lots of fluff and weirdness.
1. French Fries and a Mysterious Guy

Lance crams the French fries into his mouth as he stares out the restaurant window, eyes unfocused. Greasy handprints smudge the glass. The conversation and the chatter of his friends filters into his ears as if he is underwater.

"...Did you see what that guy was doing...?"

"...I know! Crazy, right, Lance?" Lance barely registers the sound of his name above the stream.

"Lance!" The sharp point of an elbow jabs into his side.

"Huh? What were you guys talking about? Sorry, I wasn't listening," Lance asks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he turns to face his friends. Pidge rolls her eyes and Hunk smacks his forehead.

"Ok, so like I was saying to Pidge," Hunk begins in mild exasperation, "There's this new guy at school who's really weird."

Lance reaches for another handful of fries, shoving them into his mouth as he speaks, "So?"

"Dude, you don't understand. He's like _way_ weird," Pidge protests, face stone serious.

"He's in Pidge's AP Calc and AP Bio classes, and my advanced art class. He's probably not in any of your classes, but trust me, you would know if he was in your class," Hunk dips his finger into the honey mustard and slips it into his mouth. "Mm this is good," He murmurs. "But back on topic. So this guy, he like wears this weird red jacket that's like cropped at the waist and these matching red boots and he has these weird purple eyes and long hair."

Lance raises an eyebrow. "He has a _mullet_?"

"No, it's more like he has bangs in the front and shoulder-length hair in the back. And anyways, he just acts _so_ weird! Pidge, tell Lance about what happened in your classes."

Pidge glances up at Lance, sliding her glasses up her nose. "So he walks into my Calc class and takes the seat furthest away from everyone, and just sits there, arms crossed, not even pulling out his textbook. So class starts and we begin this new section that's really confusing and we're all stuck on this one problem, right? The teacher, he's like calling on everyone and everyone's getting it wrong-even I was confused! Then, finally, the teacher calls on him, and he answers the question _perfectly_. The teacher's like flabbergasted, because he thought he had finally stumped the class, and so he starts throwing all these hard questions at him, and this guy-this guy answers _every single one of them_ perfectly!"

Lance feels the stub of a fry drop from his lips. Pidge is always top of her class in every subject, there is no one he knows that is smarter. And yet-

"Then," Pidge continues, "Everyone is frozen in awe, and when the class finally ends everyone rushes towards him. And he just walks straight past them towards the door and lets it slam behind him. And that was the weirdest part," Pidge leans in across the table, eyes wide, "The look the guy gave everyone as they were approaching. It was utter fear, like he was a deer in the headlights of a car and he was going to be run over. I saw him flinch, Lance-!"

Pidge takes two fingers and snaps them under Lance's nose. Lance recoils. "What-"

Pidge nods. "Like that. He acted exactly like that, like they were going to hurt him." Pidge settles back into her seat, her eyes wandering back into her thoughts. "The same thing happened in Bio. I wonder why..."

"Well, was even weirder in art!" Hunk adds, launching into his account, "So in art it was a free day, because we had caught up on all our projects, and we could make whatever we wanted. And the guy, he pulls out a large canvas, grabs some oil paints, and without even using a paintbrush or anything, he squirts the paint directly onto the canvas and starts using his fingers to spread it around." Hunk shudders involuntarily. "Even in art, where there's hardly any rules, that's a big no no. But the weird thing is, that as he's going along-completely unaware of anything around him, mind you-his painting starts to actually look good. At first it looks really abstract and cool, but as he works on it, it starts to take form, and like these figures start appearing. But at that moment, when whatever he's making is surfacing, he becomes aware of everyone crowding around him. And at this, he literally starts sweating beads of water. Like beads of sweat were forming on his forehead! I've never seen that before! And finally, when it looks like he's about to explode, he takes his fingers and rakes them down the canvas, smearing everything. He stares down at his hands, which are covered in paint, hyperventilating, before sprinting out the door."

Lance feels like he is struck by lightning. "What the _weird_?"

Hunk and Pidge nod in unison. "I know, right?" Pidge exclaims.

"When did this happen, and how come I didn't hear about it?" Lance demands, clutching his head. For some reason he cannot shake, his mind is fixated on this mysterious guy.

"Oh, just last week. I think the guy only moved here on Monday." Hunk slurps on his soda before letting out a burp. "Excuse me."

"You probably haven't noticed it because you're blind to the world," Pidge interjects teasingly. "You're always staring off into space, daydreaming. What do you even think about?"

Lance feels a blush creep onto his cheeks. "That's-that's none of your business!" He splutters. "Besides, we're changing the subject!"

Pidge snorts.

"Anyways, back on subject," Lance says loudly, giving Pidge a glare, "Do you guys maybe think that the reason the guy's acting that way is because he's autistic or something?"

Hunk shrugs. "Could be."

"Hey, maybe after the weekend you guys can point him out to me?" Lance suggests. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't intrigued.

"Sure, thing man," Pidge stretches, tossing the now empty fry container in the trash, "He has the same lunch period as us."

"Great," Lance stands up as well. "It was awesome to hang out with you guys, but _mi Madre_ has a doctor's appointment and I gotta watch the fam." He swivels around, strolling towards the door.

"Oh, yeah, see you later." Hunk calls from behind him.

His friends' voices fade away as Lance closes the distance between him and the exit, his mind swirling with the stories they told. _Weird purple eyes. Deer in the headlights. Covered in paint._ And as the words and imagery spiral together of this strange and otherwise new boy, Lance stops short in realization. His toe is in the door.

Faster than Lance has ever moved in his life, he darts back over to the table. Hunk and Pidge gaze up in surprise.

"Wait, wait!" Lance cries out, stopping short. He pauses, catching his panting breaths. "What-" He gasps, "What was his name?"

Pidge puts a finger to her lips and glances upwards. "Um, I'm not sure, but I think his name was Keith."

Lance nods, a quick, bobbing motion. "Thank you," Before he can finish the statement he's already whisked the words away with him as he swings the door open, a sort of bubbly breathlessness being released from inside.

 _Keith._

* * *

 **A/N Hey guys thanks for reading. This is my first fanfic (and first time writing), so I really appreciate it. Reviews help boost my confidence as well, so it doesn't hurt to send them.**

 **Yes, there is a reason why Keith is so weird, but you'll just have to wait and see!**


	2. Cafeteria Conversations and Cold Weather

Monday shows on Lance's face in the dark crescents under his eyes and in his disheveled hair. The entire cafeteria is subdued with its atmosphere, the day of the week hanging over the students like a thick heavy smothering blanket. They shuffle in the lunch line like weary ants, dragging themselves over to a table, and Lance is among them. His eyes wander over to his group's usual spot, where he collapses onto the plastic bench.

"Hey," he languishes, the word slurring out of his mouth like molasses. His brain feels drenched in the stuff.

"Hey Lance," Hunk mumbles in reply. He's poking his platter of food with a disgruntled expression. Across from him, Pidge is buried beneath papers and textbooks, scrawling haphazardly onto a partly ripped loose-leaf sheet. She doesn't even acknowledge Lance's presence, her eyes are trained on her writing and her glasses are slipping down her nose.

"Pidge, are you sure you need to take all these AP classes? It seems like they're causing a lot of stress for you," Hunk notes, peering over Pidge's shoulder. "We're only freshmen, you know."

"I know that!" Pidge snaps, unable to tear her eyes away from her work as her brows furrow, "It's just that Matt is going to the Garrison next year and I really don't want to be left behind."

"The Garrison? Isn't that the nerdy place where scientists go?" Lance questions with a stifled yawn.

Pidge flicks her head up, meeting Lance's gaze with fierce eyes. "The Garrison is the place where all the latest medical and biological research are taking place! They're making huge strides in discovering the structure of life, the regeneration of cells, the intricacies of the mind! They're curing diseases, pushing the limits of the human body, finding the secret to consciousness itself! Of course I want to be a part of that!" Pidge's hands are slammed onto the top of the table, her cheeks are flushed, indignant and passionate.

"Yeah, we all know they're amazing and stuff, but why do they have to be so secretive?" Hunk protests, "I mean, I would like to have some cloning technology and whatnot in my life."

"I don't know, maybe they have to protect their research from the public opinion or something," Pidge waves her hand as if to dismiss him, turning back to her work.

"Well, I know I'm not going there, I'd go to a place where I can put my cooking skills to work," Hunk remarks, glancing down at his food. He makes a disgusted face. "Speaking of cooking, the cafeteria really needs to work on..." He trails off, "Lance?"

Lance is leaning out of his seat, scanning the room. His lips press in a hard line as no purple eyes or long hair jumps out at him. He hasn't stopped thinking about the boy, Keith, or reliving those vibrant images of him, almost snapshots: trapped in a crowded classroom, a perfect answer for everything, fear clinging to him in the form of sweat as he smudges his painting into oblivion.

"You said Keith had this lunch, right?" Lance calls over his shoulder. His stomach is sinking in disappointment, he had been seeking this day ever since those strange stories were told of him, a chance to meet the boy in the flesh. But all those dream-like imaginations and hope are being swept up in the crowd of students like sand.

"Oh, the weird new kid? Huh, I don't see him...oh-wait-I remember on the first day, he ate lunch outside-!"

Lance gazes out the window. Sure enough, a small figure clad in red can be seen perched on a bench. Lance stands up stick straight. But wait- it is like 30 degrees outside! What's the kid doing out there?!

Lance snatches up his coat, zipping it up to the collar. "See yah, Hunk, I'm gonna go talk to him."

Hunk's mouth drops. "Wait-are you serious? You want to talk to the crazy kid?! What if he like, runs away from you or something? Lance-this is _insane_ , even for you!"

Lance locks his gaze with Hunk, staring as seriously as he can muster. But, after a few moments, he can no longer contain himself, and he cracks the biggest grin, flashing each tooth. "I know."

Then he is maneuvering swiftly through the bustle of students, food left forgotten behind him. His heart is thudding, and he can't help beaming from the adrenaline rush. This might be the stupidest thing he's ever done, but when someone's as interesting as this new kid is, Lance might as well die not finding out.

* * *

Lance shoves the door open and his face is bitten by frost-edged winds. He curses silently, but wraps his blue jacket tighter around himself and exhales, his hot breath warming his frigid lips. Ok. He can do this.

"Hey moron, are you going in or out?!" Someone shouts from inside the building. Lance ignores the urge to flip him off and instead takes two steps forward, striding across the threshold and onto the frozen grass. A satisfying crunch meets his soles on impact.

He lets the door slam shut behind him. The noises, the static of laughter and indistinct conversations and the stifling of too many bodies crammed into one space all fades. Lance can only hear the whistle of a stirred up wind and the emptiness of the desolate, alien courtyard.

Well, not completely desolate. Lance's gaze lingers straight ahead, where, among the iced cold greens and frigid blues of the spotless sky, a figure perches in defiant red, a color just shy of a fire engine and with as much obstinacy as a tree that refuses to shed its leaves.

Lance squints. He's on a park bench, back ramrod straight, and it doesn't seem like he's noticed Lance. Yet. Lance takes a gulp of the air-it's like chewing ice cubes-and starts to make his way over.

Keep calm and carry on. Lance attempts to make his movements seem casual-nothing suspicious here, folks! Just a guy strolling outside, wanting to be friendly. Lance forces himself to smile the most beaming, happy smile he's ever put on as he pets his strung nerves, ever so afraid that maybe the boy might bolt if he comes any closer.

But he doesn't. As Lance approaches him, the boy stays put, still as a statue, and his features slowly shift into focus. With every step the image of the boy becomes clearer.

He's smaller than what Lance originally thought he was, his thin form appears to be only skin and bone. He's wearing tight black skinny jeans and red combat boots, along with a matching red jacket-Hunk was right-that cropped off right by his ribs, exposing a dark grey undershirt. His hair, long and tangled in the back and bangs in the front, curtain his eyes which watch his movements, unblinking.

Lance stretches his grin even wider, and in one fluid movement-plops himself down on the bench adjacent to him.

"Hi!" He says cheerfully, "Your name's Keith, right?" His words are colored by his breathlessness.

Keith blinks, and Lance falls into his eyes. They really are purple, but more like a deep violet color that blends into the night sky at sunset. Keith's long eyelashes flutter through his hair. He gives a small, slight, unperceivable nod.

"Great! The name's Lance, nice to meet you!" Lance whisks out a hand, holding it out to him.

Keith studies the hand, a look of puzzlement etched into his features. At that moment, Lance notices how feminine Keith looks, his face delicate, his bones as small as a bird's. But Lance realizes he's staring, and shakes himself back to the matters at hand. Mainly, his hand.

Lance withdraws his hand back to his side, careful not to make his smile falter. "So, what are you doing out here?" He asks with a laugh that he hopes doesn't sound too fake.

At this Keith drops his eyes and seems to curl into himself, and for the first time Lance notices that Keith is trembling.

"Hey, are you cold? That jacket doesn't really seem warm enough," Lance says, forehead creasing in worry.

Keith shakes his head violently, his ink black hair whipping the sides of his face. His eyes are downcast, shielded by his lashes.

"Oh, hey, that's fine. I'm out here because I hate the loud noise and all the smells in there. I just need a break, you know?" Lance rambles on in what he hopes is a soothing tone. "So I came out here!" He notes that Keith's porcelain skin is ghost pale.

"Here-" Lance fumbles with his zipper, tugging his jacket off and yanking his arms out of his sleeves. Goosebumps rise on his bare skin.

He clutches the puffy jacket between his forearms, sighing, as he peers up at Keith, who had been watching the whole ordeal with owlishly large eyes.

Lance swallows, then places the jacket in Keith's lap. "Here," Lance gestures to the item, "Put this on, it'll keep you warm." Keith stares down, startled.

Lance starts backing away. The cold is already getting to him, he doesn't know how Keith has been able to stand it. "I, uh, gotta go back inside." Lance explains with a gesture towards the building, "It was nice meeting you, Keith!"

And before he even gets a chance to see Keith's expression he's already dashing back to the door, the chill nipping at his ankles and a pair of purple eyes boring into his back.

* * *

Hunk jerks his head up when he sees Lance making his way back to the table. "How-how was it?" He probes, concerned. "He didn't-run away or anything, did he?"

Lance shakes his head, cheeks and nose flushed from the brief journey into the cold. "Nope!" he declares, "Keith seems like an okay guy! I mean, sure," he scratches his head of chocolate hair, "The dude didn't say much, but at least he didn't seem scared or anything..." Lance flashes a grin, "It went well!"

"Well, that's good, at least," Hunk remarks, and returns to poking his food. Pidge's head is bent and her nose is buried in her textbooks, unaware of her surroundings.

Lance crosses his exposed arms as he sits back in silence. His lips purse as he replays his meeting with Keith over in his mind, goosebumps still present on his skin.

* * *

"Lance, where's your jacket?" The bell has just rung, and everyone is flooding out the doors, including Lance and Pidge, who are heading down the sidewalk. Pidge hurries up to Lance's side.

Lance scratches his arm, placing a nonchalant expression on his face. "Oh, um, I might've given it to...someone..."

Pidge raises a eyebrow. "Who?"

"Eh...it might've been...Keith...?" Lance says weakly.

"Lance!" Pidge punches him in the arm.

"Ow!"

"So that's why Keith was clutching onto a blue jacket today! Why the heck did you give it to him?!"

"He was cold, ok?!" Lance protests, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "He was shivering outside and I wanted to be nice!"

Pidge pokes his chest with a mittened finger. "Well now _you're_ shivering outside, dummy!" She smirks, then flips around and skips ahead, her lime green coat flapping in the leech cold wind.

Lance wraps his arms around his torso, teeth chattering. "You're welcome to share your jacket, too, you know!" he shouts after her.

"Oh, I would, except I don't think it would be big enough for you!" Pidge yells back, turning the corner into their neighborhood.

Lance grinds his teeth in frustration before breaking into a run. "Oh, when I catch up to her," he mutters under his breath, "She's gonna wish..." He speeds up, the wind howling at his back.

As he turns the corner, he sees Pidge already making her way to her house. "See ya tomorrow, idiot!" She calls with a wave.

"Likewise, nerd!" He replies, strolling past her and down the street. His house is the last one on the road, a nice blue one the color of the sky.

As he nears his destination, Pidge's comments stand out starkly in his head like snow. What was he doing, really, giving out his only coat like that? He laughs internally, rifling his hands through his hair as if to free the concern from his skull. Maybe he really is an idiot.


	3. Without a Coat

It's only 11:00, and Lance is already falling asleep. His head droops onto his desk, a sheet of paper sticking to the drool on his cheek. His eyes are half-lidded as he lets the world go blurry. Never again, he chants in his mind. No more playing Killbot Phantasm until midnight.

The bell lets out a shrill shriek, and Lance groans. A dull headache throbs on the sides of his cranium, but he grits his teeth and lifts his head up. His whole body is dead weight as he gets out of his seat and ambles to the door. Is this what being a zombie feels like?

"Man, you look like shit," Pidge states bluntly when Lance falls into his seat at lunch.

"Pidge, language!" Hunk chides, scandalized.

"Nope, she's right. I feel like it too." Lance grunts, face already pressed against the table.

"You, didn't stay up late playing video games again, did you?" Hunk pressures, lecturing creeping into his tone.

"Get off my back, mom," Lance mutters from between the gaps in his arms.

"Lance, you're in high school now. You can't fool around anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Lance wills his vision to fade away as he squeezes his eyes shut. The clamor of conversations sinks under the fatigue that hugs him like a warm blanket. Slowly, he loosens his grip on his gnawing worries and lets himself be enveloped by the warmth as it claims him...

"Lance!" Pidge hisses in his ear.

"Whattttt?" He moans, rolling his head away.

"Someone's here to see you."

"What?" Lance straightens, rubbing the painful sting of exhaustion from his eyes.

Pidge points behind him. Lance whirls around, and there, seen through the door window on the precipice of entering, is Keith, eyes darting around as if unsure of where to land.

* * *

It was if someone had shot caffeine straight into Lance's bloodstream. He stumbles backwards out of his seat, nearly cracking his head open on the floor as he flails his arms to balance himself. "He must be here to return my jacket!" Slight panic flashes in his eyes as he dashes to the door.

Keith shrinks back as Lance bursts through the door, banging it shut behind him. Lance is outside, scrunching up his nose as the front of wind greets him, drenching every inch of his skin in numbness. He rubs circles on his arms and plasters a grin onto his face as he shifts his attention to Keith. "Hi again!" he wheezes as cheerfully as he can muster.

Keith rivets his eyes on him and Lance takes in his appearance. He's still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, jacket and all. His mop of hair is disheveled, and he's left a white crescent on top of his blue-tinged lips from biting down so hard.

Something is thrown in Lance's direction, shaking his attention. It bumps off of Lance, and he fumbles trying to catch it. He scans the object. It's his jacket.

"Sorry," Keith's voice came out silvery soft, almost quiet enough to be mistaken for a sigh.

Lance's eyebrows ascend. "What do you have to be sorry for?" He muses, subdued.

Keith's mouth opens wordlessly, then clamps shut. He shifts his weight in place as if to take a step forward. He's poised, hesitant. Lost. Lance recognizes the expression all too often in himself.

He breaks the space and the tension strung between them by moving to Keith's side. He cocks his head, catching Keith's unwavering gaze, and gives him a lopsided smile. "Hey, you were freezing and I wanted to help," he assures, "It's what friends would do."

Keith searches Lance's face, his deep twilight eyes in fixed contemplation. Lance observes how much shorter he is than him; Keith has to tilt his head up to meet Lance's eyes. Yet the intensity of his stare is piercing, and Lance realizes with a jolt why it is called eye _contact._

"...friends?" Keith says it bleakly, with a touch of somber and smothered hope, as if he didn't believe Lance was telling the truth.

Lance nods once, firm and resolute. "Friends." He rolls his shoulders back and lets out a chuckle. "I mean, once you lend someone your jacket, you move past acquaintances, right?"

Keith flicks a stray lock of hair out of his face. His eyebrows bunch up and lips twitch downwards.

Lance mentally face-palms. Obviously Keith did not get the joke. Oh well.

He tosses the jacket back to Keith, who catches it, eyes widening. "Keep it!" Lance decides. "You need it more than I do."

Keith grips the sleeves in his fists, winding the rest of the jacket around his arms like a string around a yo-yo. He clasps the material close to his chest and glances back at Lance, who gives him a thumbs-up.

"Uh...ok! So, see you tomorrow, Keith! Bye!" Lance salutes a wave, backwards-walking to the door. He cracks it open, sneaks one more last glimpse of Keith, who's gingerly sliding his arms through the sleeves, and slips back inside.

Despite the frigidity of the weather, Lance's chest feels rather warm. As his skin begins to thaw upon entering the heated building, Lance thinks maybe he did something right for once in his life.

* * *

Or...maybe not. Lance feels like repeatedly pounding his head against the wall. At least it would be better than listening to his mother's tirade.

" _Perdiste tu abrigo?! Sabías cuánto cuesta eso?! Qué voy a hacer contigo, hijo_?!" His mother's shouts ring in his ears and feel like shrapnel.

" _Mamá!_ I told you, ok?! Yesterday I thought I had just misplaced it, but I...checked the lost-and-found today and it wasn't there! I'm- _Lo siento_ , ok?!" Lance retorts, cheeks flushing an angry red.

" _Hijo_... Money is tight, _con todos sus hermanos y hermanas_ , I cannot afford to pay such expenses." She wearies, exasperated. " _Debes ser más responsable_."

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Lance throws up his hands. He hates it whenever the word _responsible_ is used. As if he didn't have enough pressure already. "Look, you don't have to spend anything, I'll buy myself a new coat this week."

His mother pinches the bridge of her nose. "You better."

* * *

Lance trudges up the stairs to his room, almost crashing into his younger brothers Alejandro and Caleb who dart past him, screaming and waving action figures at each other. When he finally reaches the landing, he slips into his room, kicks his backpack into a corner, and proceeds to flop onto his bed.

Rolling onto his back, he stares upwards at his ceiling. His room is painted true blue, and peeling video game posters hang crooked on his walls. A night sky of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars spread across his ceiling, and he fixates on the largest one, sighing.

What was he doing, really? Lying there, bleary-eyed, ignoring the mounting pile of homework in his backpack. Stuck in the same cycle of just living.

 _Qué voy a hacer contigo_...What am I going to do with you?

Lance doesn't even know what to do with himself.

His eyes start to drift closed, and he lets it, welcomes the dark unconsciousness. He'll face reality when he wakes up. His thoughts start to drift, swirl and collapse upon themselves in supernovas and nervous cycles. He's already dreading facing reality, and the what ifs spiral even as he loses his grip on comprehending them.

As Lance's breaths become heavy and deep, voices rise and fall with his chest. He clings to them admidst the flurry, and his thoughts fade with the words imprinted into his mind.

 _Friends?_

 _Friends._

* * *

 **A/N I only know limited Spanish, so sorry if I messed anything up.**


	4. Mistakes

He concludes that January is possibly the worst month in the entire year. As Lance tries to focus on his Geometry teacher, he can't help but count down the weeks until the next break, which is in April.

To make matters worse, he forgot to finish his homework for the class, having slept through dinner. Whatever. At least he isn't exhausted anymore.

There's a tap on his shoulder. Lance turns to see Mr. Iverson glaring down at him.

"You need to have your parents or guardian sign this, Mr. McLain," Mr. Iverson speaks in clipped tones. "You're failing this class." He slips a sheet of paper onto Lance's desk.

Lance's heart drops. Crap. It's his missing assignments, isn't it? He hears Mr. Iverson walk away as he continues to ogle the paper, his stomach suddenly queasy. What's he going to tell his mother?

The bell tolls for lunch and Lance crumples the paper at the bottom of his backpack. He'll worry about it later. He swings his backpack over his shoulder and makes his way to the exit, ignoring the increasing tightness in his shoulders.

Pidge finds him in the hallway as everyone surges towards the cafeteria. "Hey!" She calls over the din. "You joining us for lunch?"

Lance shakes his head. "No, I promised Keith I would sit with him." Not necessarily true, but he did say he would see him today.

Pidge rolls her eyes. "I can't believe you let him keep your jacket, and now you're going to meet him _outside_?!" she places a palm on her forehead. "Why are you doing this all for some weirdo?"

"I told him we were friends!" Lance blurts, crossing his arms across his chest. "Plus, he seems lonely."

Pidge slowly shakes her head back and forth disapprovingly. "You're almost kind enough to the point of stupidity, you know!"

Lance flips his backpack strap to his other shoulder in a shrug, the weight of the balled-up report card feeling as heavy as a bowling ball. "Well, maybe I am," he confesses, lips twitching upwards.

Pidge returns the smile. "Ok, just make sure not to stay too long out there. I don't want you to become a hypothermic Popsicle." She breaks away, hurrying over to the cafeteria entrance.

Lance waves, walking in the opposite direction to the school doors. "Will do!" He shouts. As the distance closes between him and the outside, a self-depreciating grin settles into his features as he thinks of how messy his life is as of late.

But as he catches a glimpse of Keith through the window, a figure of red with new patch of blue overlaid, he wonders if something good can come out of it.

* * *

Lance curses under his breath as soon as he opens the door. He's been without a jacket for three days and still not used to the cold. It immediately seeps into his skin, beating his face and extremities a raw red.

He tries to mask the shudders wracking his body as he stiffly walks over to Keith and sits down beside him. "Hey, Keith," He says with a clenched jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Hey," Keith responds in an undertone, eyes not meeting Lance's. He's wearing Lance's coat zipped halfway up, so the collar of his red jacket pokes out. His arms are tucked inwards, his slight fingers weaving together and apart, together and apart in his lap.

Lance finds himself captivated, he's never seen a guy with such thin and elegant hands. But as the silence stretches between them, Lance breaks his gaze.

"Man, I'm starving," Lance announces, stretching his legs apart and slouching slightly against the bench. Maybe some food will warm him up. Lance twists his body, yanking open his backpack and seizing the sack lunch from within. He drops it on his lap in triumph, unfurls the top, and pulls out a sandwich.

As Lance is about to take a bite, he spies from the corner of his eye that Keith is inspecting the sandwich with a intently focused stare. It suddenly occurs to him that's he's never seen Keith with any food, whatsoever. Lance usually eats in the lunchroom, but Keith is out here the entire time, and Lance hasn't even seen a trace of food or lunchbox on him. He takes into consideration Keith's boney thin form and concern begins to gnaw at him.

Lance lifts up the sandwich like a toast, catching Keith's eye. "Want some?" He offers, cracking a broad grin.

Keith's head jerks backwards, his fingers freeze in their incessant interlacing.

Lance doesn't falter. "It's totally ok," he encourages, tearing the sandwich into two and passing one piece to Keith, who holds it tentatively between two fingers. "It's a Cuban sandwich, which is kinda like a ham and cheese sandwich," Lance pops the half into his mouth, chewing while he explains.

Keith examines the sandwich. Slowly, he brings the half up to his mouth, reluctant for a few moments, before taking a small bite. As he chews, he's still hesitant, but not before long Lance begins to notice a semblance of a smile emerge on Keith's face, who takes another bite.

"It's good, isn't it? My mom was an immigrant from Cuba, and she brought a lot of great food with her. She makes a killer _medianoche_ and _pan con lechón_ as well," Lance chatters eagerly. It's the first time he's seen Keith smile. "I mean, I guess I used to live in Cuba too, but I was so little then that I don't even remember it," he leans forward, "So, um... Where did you used to live before you moved here?" Lance probes carefully.

Keith pauses, bringing his arm down and letting the sandwich settle on his lap. "Lots of places," he mumbles. The words hang in the air.

"That's really cool! Did you get to travel a lot around the country?"

"Yeah, I did," Keith's eyes never leave his vacant sandwich.

"Awesome! See, when my mom immigrated to Florida, she got a nursing job up here in Cincinnati and we've stayed here ever since!" Lance babbles, waving his hands excitedly. "Though, I kinda wish we had moved a little bit..." he says wistfully. "You're lucky. Your parents must have interesting jobs if you get to move so much!"

Keith hunches his shoulders. "Not really."

"Oh, so your mom or dad got a new job, then?"

At this Keith turns his body away from Lance, his head bent. "I'm in foster care," he whispers.

Lance's brain grinds to a halt, he gapes, eyes wide. "Oh," is all he manages to say.

The rest of the lunch is spent in uncomfortable, thin silence, as Lance's thoughts churn and Keith quietly finishes his sandwich. _Stupid_ , is the word resounding in Lance's brain. _Stupid stupid stupid._

When the bell rings, echoing even in the courtyard, Keith is the first to get up, he stands in front of Lance, fidgeting with a strand of his long hair. His melted purple eyes linger on Lance's for a brief moment.

"Thank you," he says, and then he is gone, an afterimage of red and blue still clear as the chill in Lance's bones.

* * *

Lance buries his head under a pillow, trying to block out his mother's furious yells that reverberate up to his room. She had just received his report card. He clenches his ears. He's already witnessed her shock, her disappointment. He doesn't need to hear more of it now.

How many mistakes has he made in the past few days? Lance has stopped counting. He wishes could take them all and brush them under the rug, as if they never happened. But he knows, deep down that it's impossible. He can't undo mistakes, he can't rewind time, he can't take back words that have already been said. His conversation with Keith presses sharp, and he can still hear Keith's shy voice.

 _Thank you._

What for? Lance laughs, a gurgling noise at the back of his throat. He's the one who messed up, who always messes up. And now, more than ever, he wants to make it right.

Maybe he can. _Thank you._ Lance shuts his eyes tight. If Keith can forgive him, then. Maybe.

He springs up, covers flying. It's time to stop cowering, hiding, doing freaking nothing. He's gotta fix things.

He dumps out his backpack, the stack of overdue papers that have been culminating over the weeks scattering onto the floor. Lance sets himself down, crosses his legs, and drags over a Geometry textbook. He chews on the end of his pen as he concentrates on the first paper. The problems swim before his eyes. Lance blows out a sigh. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

 **A/N Yeah I'm re-working a lot of chapters so sorry for anyone confused with any chapter changes.**


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